Buckle
by Something Witty About Ramen
Summary: Sirius is too much or not enough at one with his Animagus form, but there are really more important things to worry about. MWPP era, gen. WARNING: physical abuse written by someone who's never experienced it.


Originally written a while ago for Mousapelli's Sirius's Worst Memory Mini-Challenge, so credit for the basic idea goes to her. Sirius and Remus being freaks of nature in ways that are neither canon nor related to each other is me, though.

Standard disclaimers apply.

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He stood in the center of the drawing room, staring his mother down. It was the dog in him, refusing to yield to one not of his pack, as much as it was his own human desire to defy the woman whose love for him had been proven only conditional.

"What have I told you about consorting with Gryffindors while in this house?"

He remained silent, fighting against Padfoot's instinct to bare teeth and growl. Which letter had she found? One of James's, probably, though there were a few from Remus, as well, and a couple of owl cards from Peter...

"_Answer me when I speak to you, **vermin**_!" she shrieked, short temper already lost. She rose from the dark green chair, waist and knees straightening so quickly that something really should have snapped, and in the brief moment when rolls of flesh and cloth rearranged themselves, he caught sight of diamond and obsidian at her waist.

"I'm not to write to or speak with my housemates at all while under the roof of a proper Slytherin family," he said, still maintaining eye contact. _Don't growl, don't look away._

She said something else, but he wasn't sure what.

_Don't growl, don't look away._

Her eyes began to bulge, the way they always did when she was angry enough to strike someone.

_Don't growl, don't look away._

She removed the belt, fingers hindered by rage and excess flesh both.

_Don't growl, don't look away._

She tapped her belt with her wand, and it floated into the air behind him, moving like a snake through water.

_Don't growl, don't loo--_fire dragged across his back, diamonds breaking his skin and a curse irritating the fresh wounds. The blow was so unexpected that he found himself looking suddenly at the hideous old flying carpet beneath his feet. Before he could straighten there was a second blow, then a third and a fourth and a fifth.

_Don't cry, don't yelp, don't whine, don't growl,_ he thought, trying to focus. _Don't change, don't rip her fat wobbling throat out with your teeth, don't cry, don't give her the satisfaction of knowing you're just a damn dog after all, don't yelp, don't die, don't give in to the predator when your pack isn't here, don't whine, don't growl, don't let her win..._

Finally, there was nothing.

Sirius didn't know how he managed to survive the Sorting and feast, aside from old-fashioned good luck. It had to be the only reason the other three hadn't yet come over to ask whether he was really all right--they'd all learned to recognize the movements of an injured person, from the days when Moony's transformations had been worse.

Feeling relatively secure behind drawn curtains and a Silencing Charm, Sirius removed first his robes, then the Muggle shirt he'd worn to the train station, and finally the blood-soaked bandages that had been essentially new when he'd applied them that morning. Moving slowly so as not to aggravate the wounds, he cast the counter-curse that would allow him to heal naturally.

He could almost swear he felt the lacerations on his sides and shoulders scabbing over already. A muttered healing spell, and he knew he could. He was contemplating how to reach the center of his back when the curtains in front of him parted.

"Padfoot, are you alright?"

His eyes met Remus's, then canine instinct surfaced and Sirius looked away-to the bandages at the foot of his bed. _Stupid!_

"I suppose I _have_ been smelling your blood, then, haven't I? Why didn't you go see Madam Pomfrey, Sirius?"

"I didn't want... you can't tell _anyone_, Remus!" Sirius set his wand down and leaned forward, hissing when a scab tore away from a not-quite-healed cut. "It doesn't matter anyway, it only happened yesterday and I'm not going back ever again!"

Remus studied Sirius a moment, then turned to return to his own bed.

"Wait! Could you, you know... there's some I can't quite reach, and... could you maybe help me a bit? I'd really... I'd really appreciate it. If you did..."

Sighing, Remus crawled closer to Sirius. "Turn around, then, let me see. What curse is it?"

"How'd you know there's a curse on 'em?"

"Because you're not normally a hemophiliac, Padfoot. Which curse?"

"Generalized Hemophilia Curse, actually. And a Pain Amplifying Curse, too, I think, though it could just be I've forgotten how to take a beating."

"Hold still then, or I'll have to hold you down and _slobber_ all over your back."

"I still can't believe that's not in any of the books. Or maybe that's why the Ministry oppresses werewolves--if the public found out that getting a werewolf to drool on your afflicted area twenty-seven days out of twenty-eight will remove any spell effects, everyone might go out looking to get bitten. _Oy_, watch it!"

"I _told_ you to hold still. If you can't handle a little stinging from a tiny bit of spit, then keep your mouth shut!"

"Alright, sorry!"

"I'm done anyway. Make sure to sleep on your stomach all the same, and clean up the blood yourself. There's no telling _what_ sort of dreams I might have with blood-scent in my nose all night."

"You won't tell anyone?"

"I won't tell anyone. If it happens again, though..."

"It won't. Thanks, Remus."

"Honestly, Sirius, what're friends for?"


End file.
